And The World Spun Madly On
by thebrunetteone
Summary: Draco Malfoy had his fair share of drama, deceit and disappointment, but the world kept spinning on anyway... This is his story. Chapter 6 is up: Suddenly, Draco felt as if he had been forced to grow up too fast.
1. Nostalgia

**Disclaimer: **I own none of the characters mentioned in this story, they belong to a certain Ms Rowling

**Title: **Nostalgia

**Summary:** As the pressure to murder Dumbledore mounts, Draco finds himself slipping back to a time when being able to hold your Firewhisky was the greatest pressure of all…

* * *

The ancient wood gave a final groan of defiance as it rebelliously remained in place.

"Damn it, Goyle! Stop arsing around and move the damn thing!" Draco cried exasperatedly. Goyle nodded apologetically and attempted to heave the large cabinet forward.

"Don't just stand there, Crabbe, Goyle can't move the _entire_ thing," Draco admonished. Crabbe gave Draco a hint of a mutinous stare (which Draco didn't fail to notice) but obediently put his boulder of a shoulder against the side of the cabinet, but to no avail. After five or so minutes Draco cursed loudly.

"Trust Borgin to have the only working one."

"Can't you just bewitch it to move, Draco? Y'know, _loco… locomordis_?" Goyle suggested.

"_Locomotor Vanishing Cabinet_, you idiot. You think I haven't tried that? It's bewitched not to be moved by magic," Draco exhaled in frustration, "We'll leave it tonight. I'll owl Borgin in the morning." Draco tapped his chin thoughtfully, wondering if mention of his father or perhaps the Dark Mark would be necessary to swing Borgin over again. A bored throat-clearing interrupted his contemplation. He looked up to see Crabbe and Goyle waiting expectantly.

"You can go, then," Draco said dismissively, gesturing carelessly at the door. He watched their hulking figures disappear in the maze of paraphernalia, half-annoyed, half-amused at their infinite stupidity. How they had ever succeeded in surviving life thus far puzzled Draco greatly, although he liked to think much of could be attributed to his direction.

But none of that mattered now. He was going it on is own… they were no more than lackeys now. He, Draco Malfoy, would be the pride of his family after this. His father would tell him he was a true Malfoy, a perfect son. Aunt Bellatrix would laugh madly and give him a bottle of her best Firewhisky. As soon as it was over… all he had to do was flick his wand at the pathetic wretch who was his Headmaster and it would all be over… that was all he had to do. Flick his wand. Kill a man. It was nothing.

"Stop it," he muttered to himself and made his way out of the Room. The corridors were icy in the silence of midnight, moonlight pooling in cats' cradles on the stone floor. He was truly alone, in both the physical and emotional sense.

Or not.

He spied the couple half-heartedly hiding in an alcove further down the corridor. "Terry!" the pig-tailed girl squealed. _Terry_ leaned in and planted a slobbering, inexperienced kiss on her lips. She blushed furiously, enhancing her likeness to a pig, thought Draco snidely. Terry boldly pressed a kiss on her neck, much to her delight. She giggled drunkenly and allowed a snort to escape, to Draco's horror. _Such heathens_, he thought in disgust. At least he and Pansy had mastered the art of secret trysts in the secluded corners of the library and even late night ventures in the Common Room. _Although none of it _stays_ secret_, he thought ironically. Pansy couldn't resist spilling every scintillating detail of their endeavours to anyone who was stupid enough to listen.

The couple didn't hear him approaching above their combined giggles and nervous gasps. As he passed them he glared at them accusatorially.

"Oh shite… oh, um… er, we were just going off to bed," the pig-tailed girl cried, mortified.

"Not – not together!" Terry inserted nervously.

"I wouldn't want to go to bed with that pig either," Draco commented in a disgusted tone, and strode away, his confident footsteps not quite drowning out the hushed reassurances of the pathetic Terry and the indignant sobs of the pig-tailed girl. Somehow, Draco found no pleasure whatsoever in their combined feebleness, as he usually would have. The overwhelming pressure had drained the pleasure from his life… how he wished, somewhere deep in his mind, that he could be as silly and carefree as that Terry and his girlfriend (although he would never admit it). It had been so long since the blithe days of the Yule Ball…

_The Slytherin girls had all looked on enviously as he courteously offered Pansy his arm. He nodded at the ridiculously out of place Crabbe and Goyle to follow him, and left the Common Room feeling as if no one could be as cool as he was. They met up with Blaise and Daphne, and Theodore and Millicent (who seemed amazed that Theodore had asked her and not the rather more desirable Tracey Davis) outside the ballroom. _

"_Good evening, Draco," Daphne smiled invitingly while Pansy practically cut the blood flow to his arm off. Her death grip loosened when Draco coolly returned the greeting, but she missed the lusty wink he threw Daphne over his shoulder as they turned to walk into the ballroom. He graciously asked for Pansy's hand for some of the slower dances (let it never be said a Malfoy maltreated his date), and when the eight of them snuck off with two bottles of Firewhisky Blaise had supplied, he relented and allowed her thin, slightly sweaty fingers to interlink with his. The eight of them sat and choked down the liquid fire, laughing at the stupidest things and making over-the-top conjectures about their grand, grand futures… He remembered the hooded envy in Blaise and Theodore's faces as he left a little early with Pansy's arm wrapped promisingly around his waist. That night, although he had never admitted it to anyone, he had felt truly free… no expectations, no pressure, just him, his wildest dreams and a group of people who, for one evening, had almost felt like friends._

"Draco?" Daphne's husky tone awakened him from his reverie. He found himself in the Slytherin Common Room, the comforting green glow present even in the dim light. She was perched on the edge of a couch, next to a smaller girl with the same delicate facial shape.

"Good evening, Daphne," he replied politely, as though returning to the common room at one in the morning was perfectly normal behaviour for a lone sixth year.

"What've you been up to?" she asked suspiciously. Draco was surprised at how alike she and Pansy were sometimes…

"Ask no questions and I'll tell no lies."

"Draco – '' Daphne caught herself before she could offend him. Nobody questioned the Malfoys' motives. Draco raised an eyebrow, as if challenging her.

"Um… this is my sister, Astoria. She's in fourth year now," Daphne said awkwardly, gesturing to the slight figure next to her.

"It is a pleasure, Astoria," Draco intoned courteously, as he had been taught to do a million lifetimes ago. The young girl finally lifted her head to look at him, and his politely disinterested gaze was met by a set of fierce, passionate blue eyes. He almost smiled at how nostalgic it made him to see the fresh naïveté in her eyes.

"Well, Daphne, I trust you won't keep your sister up too late. We have classes tomorrow, if you'd forgotten," he said in a demeaning tone and bade the two sisters good evening. Daphne watched in shock as he strode towards his dorm. Draco may have been behaving more and more oddly of late, but he hadn't lost his born and bred Malfoy audacity.

* * *

**Author's Note: So I figure that Draco is politer (if not friendlier) to his fellow Slytherins. He was still fairly cozy with Pansy in HBP, and what with all the must-kill-Dumbledore-or-my-family-will-die pressure, I imagine he might not have been that interested in meeting a skinny little fourteen year old. **

**Any suggestions would be very very much appreciated ******


	2. Escapism

**Title:** Escapism

**Summary**: Draco just wants to go home and fly his Nimbus.

* * *

"Does she always have to give homework? I have Charms Club today…"

"Katie Bell's been sent to hospital! Yeah, I heard…"

"…so he went back and, like, begged for forgiveness…"

Draco lowered his head and moved towards the staircase with increasing annoyance. Did the peasantry always have to speak so deafeningly? And about such mundane subjects, too. He gritted his teeth in frustration when someone elbowed him. He turned to glower at the offender and spotted a bright red head of hair galloping away.

"Can't you see where you're going Weaselby? Family too poor to afford a pair of glasses?" he called scornfully. The redhead, as well as a few others, turned around to face him in alarm. Oh. It wasn't Weasley then.

"Maybe you need to have _your_ eyes checked, Malfoy!" Sneered a lowly Hufflepuff. He felt his cheeks redden and whipped out his wand. _Nobody_ insulted a Malfoy. He was about to Leg-Bind the snub-nosed offender, but somebody bumped him again and sent his aim off completely. He ended up leg-binding Mrs. Norris, whose yellow eyes sought him out immediately.

_Screw this,_ he thought, and shoved his way through the crowd of students making their way to dinner. As he arrived at the dungeons, he found himself wondering why he hadn't shoved through the crowd in the first place. _Get your act together, Malfoy. You're losing it,_ he chastised himself. _Not after Dumbledore touches that necklace,_ a voice much like his father's said. He grinned.

The fires had been lit and the lamps turned down by the time the Slytherins trickled in from dinner. Draco had not moved from his seat beside the fireplace, contemplating, waiting, telling himself that it could take up to two days before Dumbledore actually touched the thing. And then it would be over – he would be the pride and joy of his family. How Zabini and Nott would gaze at him with open envy, how his father would boast of his son's glory, how the Dark Lord would reward him. He would be the youngest, most accomplished Death Eater of them all…

"Did you see the Gryffindors tonight? Ha! That was a laugh!" a girl, possibly Tracey Davis, crowed as she seated herself near Draco.

"Yeah, never seen them look so pathetic!" shrilled Pansy. Draco lowered himself slightly in his chair. If she was sitting on the couch behind him, she wouldn't see him.

"But why?" asked Daphne.

"Oh, well that's the best part!" Pansy cried. Draco could imagine the look of triumph on her face as her friends stared at her impatiently.

"Oh my word, you know! Tell us!" someone squeaked.

"Well… apparently that girl Katie Bell, the one with the pasty skin – ''

"The one on the Quidditch team?"

"Yes. Apparently she found a wrapped parcel in Three Broomsticks, and _insisted_ on going back to the castle immediately. So her friend, this girl Leanne – I don't know who she is either – got into a fight with her about it, and said that couldn't just leave with a weird package, because it could be someone else's – she _totally_ wanted it for herself, and while they were walking back, they started fighting over it, literally. And like, two seconds later, the thing tore and Katie touched what was inside…" Draco couldn't deny that Pansy knew how to keep her audience interested.

"What was it, Pansy?"

"Well… it turned out to be… a necklace…" Draco almost slipped from his chair. Oh. Merlin. He had killed Katie Bell. He had killed the wrong person entirely. Shit. _Shit_.

"And then she started levitating and shaking like mad!"

"What happened then?"

"Well naturally Potter happened to be there and saved the day. So she's off to St Mungo's… but things aren't looking good…" Pansy finished and smiled broadly. There was a moment's silence in which Draco wondered if there was actually a god, somewhere, who appreciated his efforts.

"Hahaha, well, serves the nosy Gryffindors right," Tracey finally said. Some of the other girls chuckled.

"Yeah…" Daphne said. Distractedly, Draco wondered if she was also secretly glad Katie Bell had survived.

Draco sat, seemingly invisible to the rest of the world, until it was just Pansy and Tracey sitting on the couch behind him. He didn't know what to think. For the first time in his life he found himself entirely unable to order his emotions. Disappointed, grateful, terrified, confused and exhausted all at once, he just wanted to go home. He just wanted to fly his Nimbus and show off for his parents and laugh at the stupid, happy Muggles.

* * *

Eventually, Pansy discovered him and berated him for not greeting her earlier. Her breath was hot in his ear: "Draco… let's go to the library." Her seductive whisper was nothing more than hot air to him. He turned his head away from her.

"Not now." He felt her pout against his neck.

"Why not? What's wrong, Draco?"

"I've a Potions essay to do."

"But we can research it in the library," she giggled triumphantly, "that… and other things…" He frowned impatiently. He wasn't in the mood for Pansy and her high-pitched giggles right now. He had bigger, more important things to do.

"No."

She sighed.

"Oh well, I'll just go have a bath then…" she ran a hand over his chest and rested it on his bicep. "Alone…" she leaned in until her lips were on his ear "in absolutely no clothes, and I'll be so… darn… we – ''

"Pansy, I'm not in the fucking mood!" His sudden, uncontrolled outburst made her cower for a second, and then she giggled at the ambiguity of his sentence. Draco glared at her, taking in her glossy lips and strategically unbuttoned shirt. She was so unaware of what was _really_ going on… her and her gossip-driven life, her perfect, mindless bubble of snide giggles and lacy bras. His every waking moment was spent with protecting his family – did she have _any_ idea what that was like? Knowing that a second's hesitation would result in the death of his parents… all in the name of the devil himself.

"Leave me alone, Pansy," he ordered coldly, hoping vainly that fear would send her away.

"But Draco, I never see you anymore… no one does! Where've you been? What's wrong, baby? You can tell me." Her voice was pleading and he couldn't help but sneer at her desperate expression. She knew nothing. He could tell her his mission, but what good would that do? She could never comprehend the turmoil he was enduring.

"Just leave it."

"Draco… what's wrong? Is it that four-eyed freak, Potter? Because Blaise told me that – ''

"Potter? Why would it be him?" Draco was bewildered by the convoluted workings of her mind. "Damn it Pansy, just drop it!"

She looked away to conceal her hurt. Draco almost felt remorse – and somewhere in the back of his mind he was disgusted with this show of weakness – and sighed. He stood and looked back at her.

"Come on. Are we going to the library or not?" he relented. She lifted her head and smiled widely at him. He could not bring himself to smile in return (not that he ever did) but instead offered her his arm and, just for an hour or two, indulged in her world of mindless escapism.

* * *

**Author's Note: This chapter highlights the cracks in Draco and Pansy's relationship, but mainly how Draco is struggling to maintain control over his emotions. He's one confused little dude…**

**Many thanks to lupinlover888 and ari11990 for the encouragement : )**


	3. Isolation

**Title: **Isolation

**Summary:** It feels like the only people interested in his plight were dead ones…

* * *

_Darkness._

"_You've failed me, Draco…" _

"_N-no, my Lord, I – I… I couldn't get to him!"_

"_As I said, you've failed me." _

"_There is still time, my Lord, please, let me try again, please."_

"_How disappointed your parents must be… and Bellatrix… no doubt they are almost as disappointed as I am."_

"_No my Lord, please, I had to do my Transfiguration homework! I can still do it, my Lord. Please, give me one last chance!"_

"_You consider your Transfiguration homework to be more important than the task _I_ have set you?"_

"_N-no, no, of course not, my Lord… I… just please. One last chance. Please."_

"_You are lucky I am such a merciful Lord."_

_And then pain through to the very skin of his soul, burning; blinding; screaming._

Cold sweat blurred Draco's vision as he jerked awake. He could almost feel the remnants of the Cruciatus Curse tingling in his chest.

"Just – just a dream," he panted, although he couldn't stop himself from clutching his wand tightly in his slick hand. Shaken, he glanced at his sleeping roommates; checking that they hadn't witnessed his childish reaction to a dream – albeit a terrifying one. He needn't have glanced at Crabbe and Goyle, snoring in a strangely soothing harmony.

_Just go back to sleep,_ he told himself. He lay down stiffly, staring up at the dank ceiling and attempted to relax.

An hour later Draco leapt out of bed, irate and exhausted and distressed. He swore lowly and threw his cloak on. So much for the Sleeping Potion he'd filched off Slughorn. Draco had taken to roaming the castle, and in his isolation, he felt as though it had almost become an ally – if not a friend. Its hidden passages concealed obscure doors to solitary rooms of solace, peace, and most of all, seclusion.

However, the castle was annoyed at being disturbed by the angry youth that evening. Draco couldn't find a single door, although he knew they must be there; he'd counted the steps.

"Come on!" he whispered angrily. The wall before him tauntingly remained still. "Damn it! When the Dark Lord takes this dump over, there will be _no_ hiding from me!" He slipped away, angry, but not stupid enough to stomp loudly, and found his way to a dingy bathroom that was barely noticeable in the dark. A tap dripped gently somewhere; the depressing rhythm echoed in the cavernous room.

"Merlin, I hate this place."

"So do I."

Draco sprang around, glancing first at the feet of the cubicles, and then in the mirrors to locate the intruder.

"Who are you? Show yourself!" he demanded. Exhaustion and paranoia couldn't mar his very proud, very Malfoyesque tone.

"Get out of my bathroom!"

_Your bathroom?_ Draco thought slyly. "_Homenum revelio!"_ Nothing. _"Homenum revelio! Homenum revelio!"_ Frowning, Draco called out:

"So… your bathroom is it? I was under the impression Dumbledore ran this place." He tilted his head as she – for no male voice could be that squeaky and whiny – responded.

"Pfft. _Dumbledore?_ I've been here longer than Dumbledore." Draco moved quietly towards the cubicle her voice was emanating from whilst digesting her response.

"Longer than Dumbledore? Nobody's – you're a ghost, aren't you?" he asked, surprised. The cubicle hiccupped.

"Aren't you?" Draco pressed in a harder tone. He pushed the door open forcefully. He was met by the shadow of a squat, bespectacled girl _in_ the toilet. The girl seemed outraged by the violation of her privacy.

"Get out! Get out! Get out!" she screeched louder as he tentatively stepped forward.

"I've nowhere else to go," he mumbled, and felt his cheeks redden at his vulnerability. Merlin, he was so pathetic! Even the castle hated him…The girl opened her mouth, presumably to screech something, but stopped when she saw the hot tears quietly edging their way down Draco's cheeks.

"What's wrong?" she asked tenderly. Draco bit his lip as more tears flowed down his cheeks from embarrassment. He slid to the ground and hunched over, his shoulders pitifully frail from weeks of malnutrition.

"I can't – I can't do it. I'm not… I'm not a murderer. I just can't do it," he sobbed. "I'm pathetic," he mumbled as an afterthought. The ghostly girl sidled up next to him, and he felt a chill pass through his arm. The girl had tried to place her hand on his shoulder.

"You're not pathetic… Nobody wants to be a murderer… It's alright…" She soothed, seemingly at odds with her position as a confidant of this strange, pale boy. It was a strange image, that of the once-proud, sobbing Death Eater, and the ghost of a girl whose only wish had been to have friends… both inexorably united by their master and murderer respectively.

After his moment of weakness in the bathroom, Draco told himself he would never lower himself to such a level again. Never would he display such frailty again. He was invincible. He was a Malfoy. He was a Death Eater. He was a murderer.

Inevitably, he returned, and soon, she moved to the Prefects' Bathroom on the seventh floor, where they could not be discovered. She consoled him through his failures; through his disastrous almost-murder of Weasley (two Gryffindors in a row? People were bound to suspect) and through his various day-to-day struggles. Although Draco considered her a mere weepy Mudblood, she was the only, _only_ one who cared.

Pansy thought he was cheating, and he let her. Crabbe and Goyle thought he no longer wanted their help in fixing the Vanishing Cabinet properly. Zabini couldn't resist suggesting that Draco was hiding because of the overwhelming embarrassment regarding his father's imprisonment. And Draco just went on, on, on.

* * *

And then, Potter, fucking Potter, interfered. It was over in a matter of drawn-out seconds, blood, water, oxygen. Draco awoke in the Hospital Wing, surrounded by sickly-smelling flowers – were those hideous pink things _pansies_? – and boxes of sweets from fellow Slytherins and home. His mother sent an emotional letter and his father dropped a line assuring him of Potter's looming death. Draco disposed of them before someone could stick their greasy nose into it and ripped open a box of Chocolate Mint Cauldrons. Food. How long had it been since he had eaten? The chocolate was velvety in his mouth, warm and pleasant. Soon he had scoffed three boxes of it, and ten minutes later, he vomited it all up again. It was at this moment that Blaise and company decided to make an appearance.

"_Evanesco_," he said lazily, and eyed Draco slightly disparagingly. Draco glared at him. He knew why they were there… it would be considered treason not to pay him a visit. They were scared. Good. No more of this mutinous taunting in the Common Room.

"Zabini…Nott…Baby Nott… " he nodded. "Good afternoon, Daphne, Astoria," He intoned politely, his expression cold.

"Pansy tells me that Potter received detention every Saturday morning for the rest of the term," Blaise said disinterestedly.

"He'll be getting a lot worse than that," Draco said unemotionally, and something about his dead, flat tone assured Blaise that these were not empty words. Blaise raised his chin.

"Well, that's if Weasley doesn't leap in to save his true love." Draco smirked, eyeing Blaise's visible relief at Draco's acknowledgment of his jibe.

"We'll get 'im, Draco," said the elder Nott.

"Yeah, we'll show 'im," added the younger.

"Well, quite." Draco wondered why they were suddenly displaying loyalty – why now?

"I hope you get well soon, Draco. Mother sends her regards and says we must have you over for dinner sometime," smiled Daphne. Draco did not know her particularly well. She was just another _family friend_ who had attended countless dinners and afternoon teas.

"Thank you." He glanced at the younger Greengrass, who, surprisingly, was not offering up any words of sympathy, rather, eyeing the bandages across his chest. He quirked an eyebrow, but didn't question it. They were nothing more than meaningless words of allegiance anyway.

"Mr Malfoy, this is quite ridiculous. You've barely been awake – what are these people doing here? Out at once!" Came Madam Pomfrey's voice from behind a screen. Draco rolled his eyes. Zabini smirked.

"Well, get out soon," cried the elder Nott as they all rushed out of the Hospital Wing.

"Bye, Draco," called Daphne as she took Blaise's hand.

Alone again.

Where the fuck were Crabbe and Goyle?

**Author's Note: Please excuse some of the more vulgar phrases… what can I say… he's a testosterone-driven, angry teenager. I'm sorry if I skipped over the Myrtle-Draco stuff so quickly, but honestly, I figure you can only take so much of him sobbing and her comforting him. I wanted to show how he's cracking up; he can't handle the isolation, even though it's self-inflicted.**


	4. Recovery

**Title:** Recovery

**Summary: **A Malfoy always recovers spectacularly from a fall...

* * *

"One more Mr Malfoy, and then you may leave," Madam Pomfrey said in her firm voice.

"Can't you make it taste less like Hippogriff excrement? Honestly, it's supposed to make you feel better, not vomit all over the place. Father's healer makes it taste like chocolate." But Draco's voice was free of venom, and after mutinously glaring at Madam Pomfrey, he gulped the sludge down. Madam Pomfrey ignored his mimes of retching and handed him a small bottle of clear green liquid.

"Pepper-Up Potion. Two sips after breakfast until the bottle runs out, or until you feel better," she said. Draco grunted in response. "You may leave now. I suppose your…_friends_ are waiting at the door. Oh, and no Quidditch for the next week." Draco made no reply, thinking how his friends would _not_ be waiting at the doors, as he had refrained from telling him the day of his release. He'd wanted to make a quick detour to the Room of Requirement. Alone.

* * *

"Draco!" The pink-clad banshee threw herself onto Draco and wrapped her arms around his shoulders as he emerged through the Common Room door.

"Aaargh!"

"Oh, oh, sorry! I'm so sorry, Draco! Where does it hurt, baby? Let me help you!" Pansy cooed. In his peripheral vision, Draco saw the curious glances directed at him. _A Malfoy always appears unruffled._

"Here," Draco said to Pansy, handing her a paper bag of the remainder of his sweets. He bit back a nasty retort when she kissed his cheek. Honestly, did she think she was his mother? He watched her bounding up to his dormitory, entirely oblivious to the disapproving stares following her frilly form.

"Ah, the prodigal son returns," came Blaise's cool voice. Draco gritted his teeth and turned towards the fireplace.

"Well-spotted, Blaise. You always had a knack for noticing the obvious," Draco returned icily. Blaise raised an eyebrow, seemingly unruffled. Draco mustered his most disparaging sneer.

"I expect Daphne's eagerly awaiting your arrival at lunch," Draco said. If Blaise was surprised by Draco's retort to his jibe, he was astounded by Draco's transparent demand to leave.

"Right. Excuse me." And with that, Blaise straightened and walked to the door. The only crack in his unfazed façade was the cord bulging in his neck as he clenched his jaw. Draco smirked and arranged himself languidly in the seat Blaise had just vacated.

"What a spectacular return to form."

* * *

In the week following his release from the Hospital Wing, Draco renewed his efforts with the Cabinet. Upon picking up on rumours that he had lost his edge, he made an effort to appear at meals, and, in general, snippily insult anyone within his vicinity. It took more effort than he thought he could muster to appear as normal whilst making his best attempts to arrange a coup on a school that had remained unassailable for over a thousand years.

_But I'm trying. So damn hard. _

* * *

Draco felt Crabbe and Goyle approach before he heard them.

"Crabbe, Goyle. I trust you didn't scoff the entire table's food before they got there," Draco greeted them. Goyle grunted out a gravelly laugh.

"Draco, we think _it_, the – the _thing_ – is ready."

"You _think_?"

"Yeah, we do," Crabbe growled.

"Relax, Crabbe. You'll get indigestion." Draco fingered his chin thoughtfully. "Tonight I'll check it out. Alone. It's beginning to look suspicious. And Potter's been dogging me for weeks, I'm sure of it." Crabbe and Goyle nodded.

"Actually, I won't wait till tonight. I'll go now. If anyone wonders where I am, tell them I had a check-up with Pomfrey."

"Okay." Draco straightened fluidly and strutted towards the door.

"Oh, and Crabbe?"

"The next time you eat the sweets off my bedside table I'll use you as target practice for the curses Aunt Bellatrix taught me over the holidays."

* * *

Draco slipped down against the rickety bedposts and heaved in a shaky breath. The cat brushed past his thigh, winding its tail around his twitching wrist. He was almost there. He could feel it. Borgin had managed to Vanish an entire cat over, a big fluffy thing that had promptly marked its territory on Draco's shoe. But he barely took notice. A cat? Next it would a handful of the Dark Lord's finest Death Eaters. Draco struggled to quash the leaden dread he felt in his stomach, rather than the hysteric excitement he should have been feeling. He had no excuse now – within a week it would be done and he would have survived and triumphed and he would be the Dark Lord's finest servant. Again, Draco struggled to feel the tiniest spark of excitement. _At least it'll all be over_, he thought with a stab of optimism.

Draco snorted.

Yeah, right.

* * *

"Well it's obvious she's been using Potter's pathetic crush on her to get into the Quidditch team. I mean, have you _seen_ how she flies?" Pansy snickered, and her friends giggled.

"Blaise tells me she plans on going professional," Theodore Nott said mildly. Draco raised his eyebrows.

"Well, Blaise would know, wouldn't you, Blaise?" Pansy teased. Tracey Davis sniggered.

"I happened to be at one of Slughorn's dinner parties" – at this he glanced at Draco – "when she mentioned it."

"I'm sure the Chudley Cannons could make space for her… with that hair she'd fit right in," Draco commented dryly. Pansy and her posse shrieked with laughter.

"Oooh, Blaise, here comes Daphne!" Pansy said and gestured to the blonde descending the hard stone steps from the girls' dormitories. Blaise glared at Pansy for a moment and then stood up.

"If you'll excuse me. I'm going to dinner." Nobody missed the upwards curve of his cheek as he greeted Daphne, or way he tenderly took her hand.

"That boy is _so_ whipped," Tracey said. "Who would have thought _Blaise_ would stick to one girl longer than two weeks?" Pansy grinned slyly.

"Well… let's just say that Daphne has brought some new stuff to the table, if you get what I mean," she said in a low voice. Nott frowned slightly at Pansy before announcing his departure for dinner.

"I'll come with you, Theo," Tracey immediately said.

Draco half expected Pansy to go when the rest of her friends left, but she remained seated on the arm of his chair.

"Are you still sore?" she asked, out of the blue.

"No."

"Then why do you keep disappearing all the time, if you're not going to the Hospital Wing?" Surprised, Draco studied Pansy. He'd always thought it was his parents' intention for him to marry someone like Pansy. And he _had_ enjoyed her attention all these years.

"I've nearly finished."

"With the mission?"

"Yes."

"Oh Draco! That's why you've been gone so much! Oh, baby, I'm so sorry … I-I thought you were cheating… You're so brave!" She gushed, stroking his bicep. "I'm sorry I doubted you, Draco. Let me make it up to you…" She leaned in and kissed him wetly. She wrapped her arms around his neck as she lowered herself onto his lap. Draco blinked when she ran her tongue in what she imagined to be a lascivious fashion around his mouth. His hands automatically found her bra straps, but instead of slipping them off her shoulders, he moved his hands up to her arms. She moaned loudly in his ear. And then Draco detached himself from her, untwisting her arms from around his neck.

"Get off me, Pansy. I'm going to dinner."

"I'll come with you!"

"Don't. This – whatever it is – is over."

With that, Draco dislodged himself from under her and headed for the door.

"Draco…?" Her tearful voice didn't make him look back.

Pansy Parkinson was definitely _not_ the girl he wanted to marry.

* * *

**Author's Note: Sorry it's such a jumbled chapter… I'm not particularly happy with it. **

**Draco is quite confusing in this chapter! In front of his friends he's all macho, but alone he's still trying to keep his head. But I inserted this little break-up in the end because it was his way of rebelling against all the expectations everyone has for him. You know, be the perfect Malfoy, be a murdering Death Eater, marry someone suitable, etc. And also because the chapter felt a bit dull. Next chapter's the big one :) **

**Feel free to comment!**


	5. Truth

**Title: **Truth

**Summary: **Draco had a feeling that it would be a good day.

* * *

A loud groan pervaded the relative silence of the sixth year dormitory. Unbeknownst to the source of the sound, and much to his later embarrassment, there was one more person in the room.

Draco blinked, frowning at the invasion of his precious sleep time. He hadn't slept that well in weeks, even _months, _and some idiot – soon to be a very apologetic idiot – had the nerve to disturb him. Although he would have preferred to have cast a Silencing Charm and collapsed back into peaceful oblivion, Draco was not predisposed to forgiveness. His wand was already in his hand anyway. Exhaling heavily, he threw the sheets off himself and pulled the curtains of his four-poster back, ready to berate the perpetrator. The dormitory was deserted, save for the four-poster furthest from Draco with its curtains drawn. Presumably the victim was hiding there.

Suddenly another groan was emitted, this time longer and more drawn out. Draco frowned upon hearing the slightly pained edge to it._ What the fuck?_ He stood silently, glaring warily at the four-poster. The curtains moved slightly, near the edge of the bed. He quietly moved towards the bed, wand he edged nearer, he heard heavy breathing; panting, almost.

_Oh Merlin. I was woken up by some loner stroking the wand? _Draco fumed. _When I'm done with him he won't fucking _have _a wand to stroke._ Furiously, he threw back the curtains of the bed and glared at the person within.

Or rather, the people within. To his utter astonishment, he was met by the sight of a stark bum thrust into the air, and Blaise's shocked face staring up from his pillows. The owner of the bum turned around to face him, intense embarrassment manifesting itself in shades of bright red on her cheeks. Daphne's blond hair was tousled and her lips parted.

"Erm... Good morning, Draco," Blaise spluttered. In an attempt to cover up his and Daphne's apparent state of undress, he pulled her flat on top of himself and attempted to pull his blanket over the pair of them. She huffed at the rough treatment, but Blaise couldn't care less for her delicacy in that moment.

Draco remained still and allowed his best smirk to work its way onto his face.

"I apologise if we woke you. I – uh, we – didn't think anyone would _still _be in bed at this ungodly hour," Blaise said with some semblance of his usual hauteur. Draco cocked an eyebrow. Merlin, did Blaise _really_ think that he was in a position to insult Draco?

Daphne blushed at Blaise's behaviour, but said nothing. Draco stood silently for another minute or two, enjoying the painful awkwardness on his classmates' faces. He watched with pleasure as Blaise strained uncomfortably, feeling that this was by far the best repayment for the insults Blaise had dealt him throughout that year. Finally, just as he felt there was no chance that the pair could reclaim the passion they had felt – at least not for the next day or two – he spoke:

"The spell you are looking for is _Muffliato_. It would do you well to master it. You wouldn't want anyone finding out about this sordid behaviour," Draco intoned, and walked out of the door, satisfied that he had sufficiently humiliated his housemates.

What luck that he had stumbled onto such a delightful bit of blackmail. Draco had a feeling that it would be a good day.

* * *

The Great Hall was vibrant with chatter when Draco sauntered in, the four tables laden with food – how long had it been since he had eaten? – and the ceiling boasting sunny skies. He seated himself next to Goyle and a pig-tailed girl who burst into giggles when he accidentally brushed her arm. Conveniently, Pansy was seated much further down the table, surrounded by her usual posse, _sans _Daphne.

"Morning, Crabbe, Goyle," he said, feeling uncharacteristically sociable.

"Hullo Draco," they chorused through mouthfuls of breakfast. Goyle attempted a grin, only to find his scrambled eggs dribbling out of his mouth. Draco was helping himself to a mug of coffee - black, of course - when the girl on his right turned to face him.

"Um, Mr. Malfoy," she coughed, cheeks bright red.

"Draco," he interrupted, althought he liked the way "Mr Malfoy" sounded. She giggled.

"Draco, um, we -" she gestured to the girl next to her, who frowned and elbowed her, "well, _I_, was wondering, um, why you weren't playing Quidditch anymore?" Draco stared at her for a moment, trying to recall how to please young girls. He was out of practice. She fidgeted under his gaze.

"It's just, well, you were so good." He smirked.

"I have other commitments this year. Perhaps next year," he said, although he had no intentions of returning to school for his seventh year.

"Oh. Oh alright. Well, um, I think we'll definitely win then," she smiled, and Draco noticed that she looked rather screwable when she smiled.

"I'm sure we will, Miss?"

"Oh um, Miss Selwyn. Alexandra."

"Lovely to meet you, Miss Selwyn." If she was a Selwyn, Draco was sure that they had attended countless teas and lunches together, but she looked delighted to be referred to as "Miss Selwyn" by Draco. It felt good to be acting like he had before his father had been imprisoned.

Of course, it was only acting.

* * *

"Mr Malfoy – if you would care to demonstrate to the class how to cast the _proper _counter-jinx for the Revulsion Jinx. Non-verbally, if you please," Snape droned in the third class of the day. Draco immediately regretted his over-zealous reassurances of his well-being to the greasy git upon walking into class. Trust Snape to ruin his only good day.

"Professor, I was in the Hospital Wing when we covered this," Draco lied, glaring at Snape, "but I'm sure Pot-''

Snape nodded curtly and interrupted him: "Miss Granger, if you haven't dislocated your shoulder in your eagerness yet, you may demonstrate the spell for the class. Potter, get up and cast the Repulsive Jinx on her."

Granger leapt up and pranced forward, glancing briefly at Draco as she passed him. In prior years, Draco had hated how Granger beat him at everything. She was a Mudblood, for Merlin's sake. He hadn't paid much attention to schoolwork that year, though. It was due to the mission, he told himself. But sometimes, in the back of his mind, he wondered if it was because his father had been imprisoned in Azkaban for the entire school year. That way Draco couldn't witness his disappointment.

Granger pulled the spell off effortlessly, much to Draco's annoyance.

"Potter, did you even cast the jinx? Say it aloud if you must, seeing as you are incapable of non-verbal spells," Snape drawled, eyeing Draco's sudden change of mood speculatively.

Things took a turn for the worse from there onwards.

* * *

Draco found himself skipping double Herbology at the end of the day. He was squashed against an ancient bed in the Room of Requirement, gazing at the Vanishing Cabinet with wide eyes.

For all his arrogance, he couldn't believe that he had fixed it. For years people had been attempting to penetrate the walls of Hogwarts – and here, right here, he had it. He fucking _had_ it. Him, Draco Malfoy. If – _when_ – he pulled it off, his name would be as renowned as the Dark Lord's.

"It's going to be alright," he whispered, and the words warmed him.

He nodded decisively, and looked around the Room, wondering how it came to be. It was, no doubt, Hogwarts' greatest asset, and he would almost miss it when he left. It had come in handy throughout the year...

_Draco had struggled to find the Cabinet during the first week of the year. After Montague's unfortunate detour in it, it had been moved beyond the students' reach, and Draco was running out of places to look for it. He had been angrily pacing about during a prefect patrol (probably the only one he had actually done the entire year), focusing on how he needed to find where broken and potentially hazardous objects were placed, when suddenly, an inconspicuous door appeared in the middle of a wall..._

_The second time Draco made use of the Room was not for the Cabinet. Oh no. He had been considerably more carefree then – and he had still had time for some fun. _

"_Baby, where are we going? We're not on Prefect Duty tonight, if we get caught, we're gonna get in trouble!"_

"_Relax. You said you wanted some privacy. Well, I've found some." He stopped and began walking up and down, glancing at a specific wall every two or three steps._

"_Draco?"_

_Suddenly an intricately carved door appeared in the wall, much to Pansy's surprise. Her mouth formed a flirty pout as she glanced at Draco expectantly. He grinned slightly in anticipation, and then she knew she was in for something special. Draco never smiled. He pulled the door open and ushered her into the Room. As she gasped at her surroundings, he shut the door quietly behind them..._

_It was a Saturday morning, and everyone was watching the Slytherin-Gryffindor Quidditch match on the pitch. Well, all but Draco, who was hurriedly making his way to the Room to work on the Cabinet, and Goyle, who was already situated outside to guard. Suddenly, he had the feeling that someone was following him. He glanced surreptitiously over his shoulder, making it look like he was looking out the windows to catch a glimpse of the match. Hopefully his pursuer wasn't smart enough to note that he was moving in the opposite direction of the pitch. If he took out his wand it would look suspicious. _Hmm, _Draco speculated as he caught sight of Goyle, awkwardly twiddling his thumbs, further down the passage. He couldn't stop the twitch of his lips as he studied Goyle, who was holding himself like a seven hundred pound gorilla whilst in the body of a fourteen-year old girl. _A fourteen-year old girl...

_As Draco approached Goyle, he tilted his head firmly, as if to say "Do what I say", but Goyle looked as stupid as ever. _For fuck's sake. Can't he work anything out for himself? _He thought. Well, perhaps not. Draco slid his wand further down his sleeve and thought: "_Imperio!"

_As soon as he reached Goyle, who he made grin up at him like a lover, he thought furiously of what he needed the Room to become, hoping he wouldn't have to pace up and down like an idiot, thereby scaring off his pursuer. He placed his hand on Goyle's bony shoulder and firmly steered him through the doorway which had very quietly appeared in front of them. Once they were inside, Draco spun around, listening to the rapidly approaching footsteps outside. Unlike his pursuer, Draco could see through a peephole in the door – apparently invisible to the pursuer. Draco stared through the hole, chuckling at the sight before him. Potter was frantically feeling up the wall, obviously seeking a secret panel of sorts._

"_Fuck you, Potter."_

_Draco's chest was heaving. Surely this was not normal. Surely you should never feel a massive hole in your chest, as though someone had delved inside you and taken out all the important things. He was almost sprinting by the time he reached the corridor on the seventh floor. He paced past the spot opposite the tapestry of Barnabus the Barmy, desperate for a door to appear. Finally it did. It was the same dark mahogany as his bedroom door. He fell into the Room, clawing at the soft carpet. _

"_Oh Merlin. I can't, I can't," he whispered, face flush against the floor, "I'm – I'm not Father." He lifted his face and stared at his surroundings. It couldn't be. It looked just like his bedroom at home, down to the books shoved haphazardly in his bookcase. With Herculean effort, he pulled himself up and dragged himself to his bed. It felt so good to sink into the plush duvet._ Fuck, _he thought, _how can I be this weak? It's done; it's ready. I can do it tomorrow if I want...

"_But I don't want to."_ _Ever since Potter's discovery of his confidence with the Moaning Mudblood, he'd realised it was time to bloody man up, and he avoided her at all costs. But sometimes it just became too much, and he found himself wishing he was in bed at home..._

"Yeah, you're probably the best thing Hogwarts has to offer," he said aloud, feeling slightly foolish. He stood then to leave, but as he walked through the door, he had a strange feeling that he would be back soon.

* * *

"Draco... Could we speak for a moment?" Pansy's eyes were bloodshot. It did not suit her, Draco decided. He glanced around the Common Room, aware that people were surreptitiously eavesdropping. _A Malfoy does not publicise his private life._

"My dormitory." With that, he continued forward as though she had not spoken. She shut the door behind them and, as an afterthought, hopefully cast _Muffliato_ on the room.

"Draco, I... I know you're going through with the mission and you're very focused on that right now, but you of all people should know that I can help you. I _want_ to help you," she said in an uncharacteristically sober tone, "This is as much my cause as it is yours." _Is that so,_ he questioned acerbically, _are you also fighting for your life?_ He stared at her.

"Ba – Draco, even if... even if you don't want to date me right now – " at this point her voice wavered, "I still... _love _you. I need you. I'll be anything you want, Draco, a friend, or – or something a bit more... Just. You can't do this. You don't know what you're doing," she finished, face expectant. Taken aback, Draco blinked at her. Had she just offered him an opportunity to become _friends-with-benefits_? Well, talk about bloody taking her time. If she'd said that about two years ago, they wouldn't be in this shitty situation.

"We've been friends for ages, I'm sure we can still be friends," he said, deliberately leaving out the "with-benefits" part. Her face crumbled, before she glared up angrily.

"Who is she, Draco? I've let you go around flirting with other girls, I know there's someone. Just tell me who she is!" He frowned at her convoluted thinking.

"What the f –" And then he yelped as something burned in his pocket. He gingerly pulled out the offending object, only to shout out: "Yes! Fuck yes!"

"Are you saying there _is_ someone else?" Pansy asked, her voice an octave higher.

"What? No, what are – never mind. I'm going. Goodbye, Parkinson," he called as he sprinted out of the room, adrenaline already rushing through his veins.

"Draco!" She wailed after him, but he barely heard her over the blood pumping in his ears.

Albus Dumbledore had left Hogwarts.

It was time.

* * *

It was after curfew, but he heard footsteps in the passage outside. Suddenly, he heard the door to the room open.

"_Nox!_" he hissed, and the room became pitch-black. He heard a gasp, and quickly navigated his way to the source. It was easy, seeing as he had kept his Hand of Glory in the Room the entire year, just in case. He caught sight of that bag, Trelawney, hovering at the door. Silently he manoeuvred his way behind her. The strong smell of sherry washed over him. Thinking quickly, Draco hooked an arm around her waist, flung the door open, and threw her out. Then he conjured a lock to keep the door shut. Idiot woman.

He stood in front of the Cabinet for almost fifteen minutes before managed to calm himself enough. He knew Dumbledore would be back soon – Rosmerta had said he'd just gone out for a drink – but technically the old man didn't even have to leave the castle for the plan to work. He would die regardless.

_You've done it,_ he said to himself, and he drew courage from the thought. He felt a sense of pride flowing through him, and, briefly, imagined what it would be like after: he would be elevated to the position of the Dark Lord's favourite, he would be above this utter _grunt_ work, he would become the most respected Death Eater of all. He would have ensured his family's safety. Father would be _so_ proud.

He slipped a piece of parchment bearing the words "He's gone" into the Cabinet, and sent it along to Borgin. Within minutes, Borgin's shop would be crowded with a handful of the finest Death Eaters. Draco waited feverishly until he heard the gentle _whoosh_ that signalled the arrival of the parchment.

"_We are waiting"_ was all it said, in a heavy scrawl. Draco shut the door and whispered: "_Harmonia Nectere Passus."_ With a louder, more solid _whoosh_, someone arrived through the Cabinet. Soon the space around the Cabinet was crowded with Death Eaters – the Carrows, the massive Rowle, Gibbon, Yaxley (the only Pureblood one, in Draco's opinion), and finally... Fenrir Greyback. Draco was taken aback by the arrival of Greyback, but he was another body, and Draco figured that no one would be brave enough to take a werewolf on, even if it wasn't full moon.

"Alright," Draco began tersely, but eased up when he saw the willingness to be led on the faces of the Death Eaters. He was made for power. He outlined the plan for them, and they nodded in agreement.

"Very good, Draco, very good," Amycus wheezed, and clapped Draco on the shoulder. The party made its way to the door, when Yaxley said:

"Stop. Can you hear that? There are people outside. Were you anticipating a guard, Draco?" Draco had not, but sneered back at Yaxley:

"It is no matter. I've planned for every eventuality." With that, he withdrew a packet of Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder, which he had filched off a third year earlier that year. "Creates an impenetrable darkness. The only thing that will work in it is this." And Draco held up his Hand of Glory.

"Hand of Glory? Classy," Gibbon said.

"You'll have to take hold of my robes, and keep hold of one another. I don't one of you to get lost here."

"Why, afraid to be alone?" one of the Carrows chuckled. Draco glared at them.

"No, but I doubt one of you wants the embarrassment of being defeated by a gang of school children."

"Focus!" Yaxley commanded, and Draco instantly regained his superior demeanor. After ensuring that every Death Eater was linked up, he opened the door, and threw the powder out into the corridor. In the ensuing chaos, they quickly made their way up to the Astronomy tower.

"_Expelliarmus!"_ came a cry from behind them. Draco spun around to see members of the Order of the Phoenix, as well as Longbottom, Lovegood and Weasley, sprinting towards them. A battle ensued, and Draco was soon dodging the multi-coloured jets of light around him, and throwing out any curses he could think of. This wasn't how it was supposed to happen! Suddenly Gibbon materialised behind him, and, running forwards as he flicked his wand, shouted: "It's done, the Dark Mark's – " suddenly a flash of green light collided with Gibbon's body, and he collapsed. Draco started, and turned towards the stairs up the Astronomy Tower.

As he approached the top of the tower, he heard a voice on the other side. _Shit, fuck,_ he thought. He was supposed to have been there when Dumbledore arrived. He threw the door open and shouted: "_Expelliarmus!"_

"Good evening, Draco," Dumbledore said, leaning against the ramparts of the tower. Draco glanced around quickly; sure he had heard talking, and spied two broomsticks on the stone floor.

"Who else is here?" he demanded, and he heard the paranoia in his tone. _Cool it,_ he thought. _You must stay calm._

"A question I might ask you. Or are you acting alone?" Dumbledore asked convivially. Draco answered the negative, eyeing the pale headmaster warily. _Why is he not scared?_

Dumbledore continued with small-talk, and Draco couldn't help but answer him. _Just get your breath back, just calm down, _he chanted. He heard himself say: "They met some of your guard. They're having a fight down below. They won't be long... I came on ahead." _Focus! Focus!_ "I – I've got a job to do."

"Well, then, you must get on and do it, my dear boy," said Dumbledore softly. Draco stared at him. Here it was – the moment. It seemed that the entire year had led up to it, and yet Draco did not feel ready. It was too soon.

"Draco, Draco, you are not a killer," Dumbledore said softly. Was he reading Draco's thoughts?

"How do you know?" Draco yelped, and then realised how stupid that sounded, and added: "You don't know what I'm capable of! You don't know what I've done!" _I've found a way into your school, old man. I've outsmarted you!_

Dumbledore began to discuss Draco's failures over the year, and criticized his apparent lack of conviction (which Draco vehemently denied), and then observed that Draco appeared to be afraid to act alone. The old fool was acting as if he would make it out alive.

"I'm not afraid!" Draco snarled, "It's you who should be scared!" he expected Dumbledore to realise the peril of his situation, but instead the old man proceeded to question Draco about how he had smuggled the Death Eaters into the castle. Confused by Dumbledore's complete absence of fear, he explained how he had done it. Detailing his plan made him realise how clever, how cunning he actually was. _I deserve to be here,_ he realised, _and I can do this._

And then suddenly Dumbledore wanted to discuss his options.

"_My_ options! I'm standing here with a wand – I'm about to kill you – " he spluttered, but Dumbledore quickly dispelled that idea.

"My dear boy, let us have no more pretence about that. If you were going to kill me, you would have done it when you first Disarmed me, you would not have stopped for this pleasant chat about ways and means."

And suddenly Draco realised why Dumbledore had been talking to him: he had been showing Draco that, even though he could devise a plan – a _brilliant_ plan – to kill a man, he could not commit the act. The truth hit Draco, right in the chest, and he burst out:

"I haven't got any options! I've got to do it! He'll kill me! He'll kill my whole family!" He felt his throat swell up, and his eyes sting, and in that moment, he felt as though he had exposed himself too much. He barely heard a word Dumbledore said after that, besides "Lord Voldemort" and then "I can help you, Draco."

Draco almost laughed. Nobody could help him! He had no choice. It was his life or Dumbledore's, and he was too young and selfish and scared to sacrifice his own life for that of an old man he had no respect for. Dumbledore was rambling again, and Draco realised how easy it would be, just to cast the spell right then, while the fool was going on and on about how Draco was not a killer.

"I got this far, didn't I? They thought I'd die in the attempt –" this was a truth Draco had not been able to acknowledge thus far, " – but I'm here, and you're in my power... I'm the one with the wand... you're at my mercy..."

But he couldn't. He couldn't do it. He felt his wand-hand drop – and then the door burst open.

"Dumbledore cornered!" Amycus giggled. "Dumbledore wandless, Dumbledore alone! Well done, Draco, well done!"

Dumbledore greeted the party, visibly shocked by the presence of Greyback. Greyback openly discussed his liking for children, and Draco felt a wave of nausea rumble in his stomach. Greyback offered to finish Dumbledore for afters, when Yaxley interrupted:

"No! We've got orders. Draco's got to do it. Now, Draco, and quickly." Draco felt his stomach sink. He was out of options. It was too late to take Dumbledore up on his offer of safety...

Suddenly a loud bang came from the stairwell, and he heard footsteps. Snape appeared – Draco had never been happier to see the greasy git. Yaxley was yelling for him to do it, but all he could do was stare at Snape and pray he had some form of salvation.

Dumbledore's thin voice interrupted his thoughts: "Severus..." he was begging, _Merlin, he was begging_! And suddenly Draco noticed how pale and weak the headmaster looked. Dumbledore petitioned Snape again, presumably still under the impression that Snape could help him.

And then Snape's face contorted and said: "_Avada Kedavra!"_

And then it was over. Snape grabbed Draco and shoved him out of the door. Draco was numb to his surroundings. He was aware that much yelling and spell-casting was happening around him, but he seemed to be impervious to it. Snape was driving him forwards, down flights of stairs, out the door, and suddenly he was outside. There was more shouting, someone roaring "COWARD!" behind him, and a fire – when was there a fire? – and then Snape shouted:

"_Run, Draco!"_ And, without the permission of his brain, his legs were carrying him forwards, sprinting as he had never before, to the gates of the Hogwarts grounds, to freedom. He focused on the gates of his own home, wanting more than anything to be there –

And suddenly the imposing wrought-iron gates of the Manor were before him. He ran straight through them – they were enchanted to recognize him – and continued running up to the Manor. The door was open for him, as if he was expected, and he continued sprinting up the drive, even though his legs were burning, but the pain was nothing compared to the things he had experienced.

"Draco?" And there was his mother, as tall and beautiful as ever, standing in the hall, waiting for him. "Draco!"

He ran to her, and she opened her arms and embraced him, kissing his cheek. For a moment he simply stood still, and then he collapsed into her as he had when he was a boy.

"Mum."

"Oh Draco, what have you done?"

* * *

**So, there it is. Sorry it took so long. It is quite a lengthy piece - I've had quite a few people telling me they're a bit short, but I can't help but feel that this is too long and boring. Let me know what you think. **

**The general idea of this was actually to illustrate how a seemingly average day turned into one of the worst days. Also, I included all the little vignettes of Draco and his schoolmates because that was probably the last normal school day Draco would ever experience.**

**And for those of you who are wondering, Astoria is actually in this piece. She's just a little hidden :)**

**NOTE: **all of the dialogue in the Astronomy Tower is from Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. It does not belong to me. It belongs to Ms Rowling :)**  
**


	6. Refuge

**Title: **Refuge

**Summary: **Suddenly, Draco felt as if he had been forced to grow up too fast. **  
**

* * *

"_Draco... do you know the consequences of failing me?"_ In his pocket, he clutched his slick fingers around his wand, fully aware that he didn't stand a chance.

"_N-no, my Lord. I- I tried, but Snape interrupted..."_

"_Such lies, Draco... Severus tells me you were unable to commit the act you so confidently assured me you were more than capable of just a year ago...Had he not stepped in, Dumbledore may still have been alive. What say you, Draco?"_

"_I am sorry. I can only beg for your forgiveness, My Lord, a-and ask that you allow me to show you what I am truly capable of."_

"_Your words have a decidedly practised air, Draco. Did you fear this moment even as you stood before Dumbledore?"_

Draco swallowed and looked at his master's feet, unwilling to make eye contact with the terrible red eyes. He opened his mouth to speak, although he felt that no words could save him now, but he was interrupted:

"_You have very little to fear, Draco –"_ His tone implied the exact opposite, _"for I am a merciful Lord. Severus assures me that you will not fail me again; he has begged forgiveness on your part. My, how people fawn over you, Draco. I, for one, cannot fathom it. However, it is obvious to me that you wish to please me, and so I shall, very generously, allow you the opportunity to prove yourself to me again."_

"_Thank you, thank you, My Lord... Y-your mercifulness is... unprecedented." _

"_How alike you and your father are, both so eloquent. I can only hope, for your sake, that you will not disappoint me as he has."_

"_I – I won't," _Draco stuttered, and then attempted to strengthen his resolve,_ "I will not fail you."_

"_Good. Now, I have a task for you. I assume you are at least capable of the Cruciatus Curse?"_

"_Yes, of course, My Lord."_

"_Excellent. You have cast it before?"_

"_N-no, but I can do it. Aunt Bellatrix taught me."_

"_Ah, there are very few more accomplished than dear Bellatrix. Lucky for you, I am one of them. How would you like me to teach you, Draco?" _

Draco was bewildered by the sudden switch from threats to benevolence. _"Y-yes, um, I would be most grateful, My Lord."_

Lord Voldemort smiled, a cruel contortion of the mouth that had the bile rising in Draco's throat. _"It is settled, then. Let us begin. Crucio!"_

And Draco fell to the cold stone floor, but it could not soothe the agony. He was on fire. A million white-hot knives were being thrust into his skin, over and over. He was being drowned in bubbling hot oil. He was being crushed by an impossible weight, his bones breaking and snapping, but he could not pass out from the paroxysms of pain. It came at him again, and again, until he was sure that he would die on the unforgiving stone floor of his own house, never to see the light of day again.

After a lifetime of it, Draco could feel it ebbing away. It did not stop immediately like Aunt Bella had said it would, but slowly faded away, taunting him.

"_There, Draco. How was that?"_ Draco was panting for breath. _"What is this, Draco? Did your mother not teach you to say thank you? It seems I have more to teach you than I expected..."_

"_Th-thank you, My Lord," _Draco breathed.

"_Better, Draco, although you do not sound as grateful as I would like. Perhaps I should show you again. CRUCIO!"_

And this time it was a million times worse. He could not think of a human torture to describe the pain that gripped every atom of his being, forcing its way to the darkest corners of his consciousness. And then came a terrible, high laugh that mingled with the pain, compounding it.

Draco could barely remember his name as it ended, the pain lingering in his extremities. He lay in silence for five or so minutes, gulping for air.

"_Tut, tut, Draco. It seems you have not learned your lesson. I am a man of manners; next time you will _thank_ me for teaching you. It seems I will have to show you again."_

The third time, Draco could not contain himself, as much as he willed himself to. His lips parted to let loose a soul-shattering scream. And the Dark Lord laughed, forming a sinister symphony that echoed through the halls of Malfoy Manor.

* * *

Draco had been in bed since nine o'clock, but could not sleep for the screaming he heard coming from the basement. He made his way to his father's study, intending to help himself to some Firewhisky to aid his sleep, but had stumbled upon his parents, sitting silently in the light emanating from the fireplace. Why were they awake at such an ungodly hour?

"Lucius." Draco heard his mother whisper. "Come, we should sleep." Through the crack in the door, Draco saw his father lean forward in his armchair and rest his head in his hands.

His mother stood up fluidly and rested a hand on her husband's shoulder, all the while staring speculatively at the door Draco was hiding behind. Draco cringed back, hoping that she could not see him for the darkness – and then she lifted her other hand, motioning at the door. Draco's stomach sank as he realised that she was beckoning for him to come in.

"Good evening, Mother, Father," he said, attempting to sound blasé. He simply sounded exhausted. His mother smiled, a minute uplift of the corners of her mouth, and his father straightened and nodded at him.

"Draco," he acknowledged, and motioned lazily for Draco to seat himself in a nearby armchair. He did not ask why Draco was wandering about at two in the morning.

"How are you this evening?" his mother asked nonchalantly, but Draco knew that she was concerned about his health after his afternoon with the Dark Lord.

"Fine." Draco knew she would understand his meaning. From a young age she had taught him that only common-people who had little else to say said that they were "fine". She nodded and seated herself in between her husband and son. The three of them sat in silence, each absorbed in their own thoughts.

"We _should_ be proud to have the Dark Lord using our home as a base," she said after a while. Lucius turned his head to look at his wife, the slightest hint of disbelief etched on his face. "There is no higher honour."

Simultaneously, father and son understood. Narcissa was trying to show them how to behave whilst the Dark Lord was ruling their household, even if their true feelings opposed their vocal sentiments.

"But of course, Narcissa," Lucius said smoothly. Draco simply nodded, unable to trust himself to speak.

"We must do everything we can to redeem ourselves in his eyes," she continued, staring into the fireplace.

Lucius exhaled heavily, and Draco had the curious sensation that his father was contemplating his son in that moment. Suddenly, Draco wished more than ever that he had been able to complete his task, if only to witness pride in his father's eyes.

With great effort, Lucius stood and moved towards the drinks cabinet. He filled three crystal tumblers with decanted Firewhisky, and handed them to his wife and son. Draco found it odd that his father did not call a House Elf to do it, but perhaps he preferred to keep their late-night rendezvous secret.

"To the Dark Lord," Draco said, mentally adding: _to His departure._

"To Pureblood supremacy," Lucius said, seemingly concurring with Draco's feelings.

"To family," Narcissa whispered, and the small family threw back the drink like heathens in the Hog's Head.

* * *

Draco sat alone in his bedroom, which, over the past few weeks, had become his refuge. It was a large, plush room, located on the first floor of the west wing of the Manor. He leaned back in his favourite armchair and sighed.

_When he was still very young, Draco's room had been on the top floor of the west wing, near his parents' bedroom. One Sunday morning, he had heard a colossal crash from down the hall, and, his childish curiosity peaked, he padded his way down the carpeted hallway to his parents' bedroom, where the sound seemed to have emanated. Hesitant, he pushed the door open slightly, afraid to be caught spying. There was stained glass scattered across the wooden floor, undoubtedly a hazard to any barefooted wizard within. He spied his mum and dad standing across the room, next to the window, wearing expressions of amused surprise. _

"_That was an heirloom," Mum reprimanded._

"_Cissa, we could buy a hundred thousand vases of exactly the same design, if you wished, and it would not even dent the vault at Gringotts," Dad said easily, and Draco was impressed by how rich and powerful his dad was._

"_You have no understanding of sentimental value, Lucius," Mum teased, "There were many memories attached to that vase."_

"_In that case, I shall have to make more memories today to compensate." And then Dad lifted Mum up in his arms and walked carefully over the glass. How strong his dad was!_

"_Lucius! Why not use your wand to clean up? Or are we living like Muggles today?" Mum protested._

"_Because, Cissa, it is across the room," he said, "As is our son." And then Draco knew his parents had seen him, and it was too late to run away. Dad reached the door and pulled it open (Draco marvelled at how he managed to hold Mum up and open the door) and looked down at his son._

"_Eavesdropping, Draco, is frowned upon by most people," his dad said, and Draco blushed. "But, today I shall forgive you." Dad put Mum down and picked Draco up in her stead._

"_Come, Draco, we are going out today. Where shall we go? Paris? Venice? It's your choice." _

It had been ages since his family had seemed so carefree, so intimate. Suddenly, he felt as if he had been forced to grow up too fast. _But you always wanted to be grown up, _Draco thought deprecatingly.

Since Potter's successful transfer to the Weasley's dump, the Dark Lord had been in a foul mood, and had a penchant for relieving his stress by forcing Draco to torture those who displeased him. It was on occasions such as those that Draco found himself taking a shot or two of Firewhisky to steel himself.

_Not that it does anything,_ he thought bitterly, _it's still as bad as it was the first time_. Father, in a rare display of sympathy, had handed Draco a bottle after that first occasion, and nodded in understanding. It was at that point that Draco realised that his powerful, strong Father, was perhaps not as tough as he seemed.

"Aren't we all?" Draco wondered aloud.

* * *

**There it is, a glimpse into the family life of the Malfoys. Hope the interlude between Narcissa and Lucius with the broken glass isn't too fluffy. I figure that, at home, they do actually display affection. And it was during the height of their power, so I think they would have been quite carefree.**

**I am in need of some reviews here, because I have no idea what I'm doing.  
**


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